


A History of Nerf Guns

by threeplusfire



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, nerf guns, sex on the floor, the things you do that are silly and wonderful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4581690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Catch!” He chucked a small bag at Trott with excessive force.</p><p>“Smith!” Trott yelped, trying to catch it before it smacked into his face. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Come and get me, you prick!” Smith thundered down the stairs.<br/>--<br/>Smith and Trott have a long history of Nerf gun battles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A History of Nerf Guns

**Author's Note:**

> This was too much fun not to write, and I had a zillion requests for the nerf gun battle. Very similar to my other nerf gun story, but I like to think this is a dumb thing they've been doing for years and years now.

_“Trooottt?”_ Smith’s voice rang out, loud and curious. Rolling over on his bed, Trott heard a door slam downstairs.

“What?” he shouted back. He closed his laptop with a yawn, and stretched. It was a lazy Sunday, one of the first warm days of the year. Trott was stretched out, just wearing his boxers and a worn old shirt from some concert he couldn’t even remember attending.

Smith poked his head around the half open bedroom door. He was slightly sunburned from the previous weekend, one spent outside running around. His hair was getting long again.

“Catch!” He chucked a small bag at Trott with excessive force.

“Smith!” Trott yelped, trying to catch it before it smacked into his face. “What are you doing?”

“Come and get me, you prick!” Smith thundered down the stairs.

Trott made a face, brow furrowed, as he ripped open the shopping bag. Inside was a brand new Nerf gun, and a full clip of foam darts. Hefting the plastic weapon with a grin, Trott stashed his laptop under the bed just in case. If he had to take a running dive, he didn’t want to knock it to the floor like last time.

“I’m coming for you Smith!” Trott slapped the clip into place. With both hands tight on the Nerf gun, Trott dashed down the stairs. Smith was waiting, lurking in the door of the living room.

“Fuck you, Trott!” He fired a couple shots, and Trott barely managed to dodge. He practically slid down the last few stairs and into the kitchen. Pressed up against the wall, Trott counted to five and then leaned around the corner to shoot. He laughed at Smith’s indignant yelp as some of them connected.

“That’s right, sunshine!”

“Fuck!” Smith rapidly fired several shots, forcing Trott to jump back.

“Ow!” One bounced off Trott’s chin. “Not the face!”

“Boom!” Smith screamed. “All over your face, you prick!”

“Smith, you asshole, I swear to-” Trott flung his arm around the door and fired again.

“Fuck _youuuuu_!” Smith dashed past the doorway, pelting down the hall towards the front door.

“Get back here!” Trott dashed over to scoop up a couple of the fallen darts. Not having enough ammunition was what did him in last time.

“No!” Smith yelled, ducking as Trott fired off a couple rapid shots as he neared the door. He banged out the front door, slamming it behind him. Trott cursed and gathered up the fallen darts. Hesitating for a moment, he turned around for the kitchen. Going around the outside of the house was the oldest trick in the book, and they’d been playing this game for years now. Trott’s bare feet skidded in the carpet as he raced towards the back door.

When Smith pushed open the door in the kitchen, Trott was ready. He unloaded the entire clip at him, laughing as Smith covered his head with both arms. The Nerf darts bounced off him, pinging around the kitchen.

Trott’s triumphant grin only lasted a few seconds. He realized he was without any ammo at all.

“Shit,” he muttered, backpedaling. As Smith raised his gun, Trott darted towards the stairs.

“You’re getting it now, Trott!” He chased Trott up the stairs, and stumbled hard as a he missed a step. Trott sprinted towards the bedrooms, hoping to find another clip of Nerf darts somewhere. Darts pinged off the wall just behind him.

“Goddamn it!” Trott glanced around Smith’s messy room. He could hear Smith’s footsteps in the hall already. He was about to shut the door when a dart smacked his shoulder.

“Yeah!” Smith cheered, squeezing the trigger until it jammed. “Aww fuck, come on! Piece of shit-”

Trott took advantage of the moment to try and trip Smith up, thinking he could vault him and make it to the safety of his own bedroom.

“Hey!” Smith flailed, one hand snagging Trott’s shirt and pulling him down. They crashed hard into the bedroom floor. Trott kicked out, trying to scoot away from the reach of Smith’s arms.

“Get off me,” Trott panted, slightly winded from the dash and the leaping around. Smith grabbed his ankle before he could completely escape. “I swear to god Smith, get your filthy hands off me-”

“Or what?” laughed Smith. Trott flung the nerf gun at his head, narrowly missing, and it bounced into the doorway. Smith was flushed with glee as they wrestled on the bedroom floor, trying to pin a wriggling Trott down. His burgundy t-shirt rode up as they rolled on the floor, and Trott poked his fingers into Smith’s exposed ribs. He was rewarded with a little shriek.

“I know where you’re ticklish Alex!”

“Stop, stop oh god no!”

Smith tried to roll away, and curl up but Trott kept finding the spots. Smith’s shorts rode low, dragging on the carpet, and Trott teased the spot just over his hip bone that always made him jump. Helpless with laughter, Smith tried to grab at Trott’s hands.

“Revenge!” Trott cackled. Last time Smith had yanked the hoodie down over Trott’s head, tangling him up and peppering him with darts. But Smith was painfully ticklish, and Trott knew every last spot.

“Stop!” begged Smith, almost hiccuping with laughter. Trott pushed him down on his back, climbing on top of him.

“Say it,” Trott demanded, skating his fingers over Smith’s ribs and pushing up his shirt in the process.

“ _Fuuuuck_ , stop stop, I give up I give up oh god!”

“Say it, sunshine.”

“You win!” Smith gasped. “Fuck you, you win!”

Trott grinned in triumph. Breathing a little harder, he shook the hair out of his eyes and raised a fist over his head in a little victory celebration.

“You are so shit,” he said affectionately, and leaned in to kiss a breathless Smith. “You’d think you would be better at this, with all that airsofting.” Trott shifted so he was straddling Smith’s hips, fitting himself comfortably in the familiar contours of his body.

“Come out there with me, I’ll show you.”

“Not a chance.”

“You’re such a bastard,” Smith complained, head falling against the carpet. He twined his fingers with Trott’s, pulling him down to kiss again.

“You love it.” Trott nipped at his lip, and kissed him on the forehead. Pinning Smith’s hands to the carpet, he shifted down on Smith’s lap. Smith moaned, mouth open against Trott’s throat. Trott rolled his hips forward, grinding down on Smith.

“You’re too easy, Smith.” Trott pushed a hand between them, reaching for the zipper of Smith’s shorts. He could already feel Smith getting hard underneath him.

“Since when do you complain about that?” Smith’s voice was husky. He kept his hands up by his head, lifting his hips to let Trott tug down his shorts.

“Never.” Trott pushed him down, leaning forward to breathe in the familiar scent of Smith. He never got tired of that, the way he smelled a bit like soap and sweat.

“You want to get up, maybe use the bed?”

“Nah, I want rug burn on my knees from riding you on the floor like we’re teenagers.” Smith’s laughter shook them both. He wrapped his arms around Trott’s back, hugging him close.

“I’m not going to say no to that.”

“Like you’d ever say no to that.” Trott gripped Smith’s shoulders, stretching up to kiss Smith again. It was easy and familiar, something they’d done so many times he had lost count. He traced the tiny scar at Smith’s lip that hadn’t been there all that long.

Smith’s hands slid under Trott’s shirt to press against his shoulder blades, slide down over his ribs with the barest scratch of his nails. Trott spread his knees wider to plaster himself as close as he could to Smith.

“ _Fuck_ , Trott.” Smith’s voice was rough. His breath came faster, and Trott lifted his head enough to look at Smith’s flushed cheeks, the way his eyes were wide and unfocused as he rolled his head against the floor. Trott shifted his hips forward, sliding down a little to feel their boxers drag against skin. He enjoyed this, watching Smith lose himself, the way he’d snap his attention back to Trott and grin, lips parted on a shuddering breath. Trott moved so he could straddle Smith’s leg, grinding his own erection against Smith’s thigh.

“This is like being a teenager,” Smith murmured.

“You miss it?” Trott asked, carefully pressing his leg up between Smith’s.

“Nothing to miss when you’re right here.”

“Sap,” snorted Trott. He slid his hand into Smith’s boxers, fingers curling around his cock. Smith groaned and closed his eyes. Slowly, Trott stroked him, savoring the delicate shift of skin in his hand. His thumb rubbed over the head of Smith’s cock, pressing into the slit and coming away slick.

“Oh fuck, _Trott_ ,” Smith gasped. One hand squeezed Trott’s hip, the other wrapped tight around his shoulders. His hips bucked up against Trott’s weight on him, the hand still slowly stroking his cock.

“That’s it sunshine,” whispered Trott. He twisted his hand, moving just barely faster as he felt Smith shudder. Smith’s long, incoherent groan was muffled where he pressed his mouth to Trott’s hair. Come dripped warm and sticky over Trott’s hand. He squeezed Smith, movements slowing to a stop. Reluctantly, Trott released him and wiped his sticky hand on Smith’s boxers.

Smith pushed him to the side, and Trott rolled onto his back with a little sigh. Assuming Smith was going to divest himself of his messy clothes, he was about to half heartedly stroke himself when he felt Smith’s hands pulling his own boxers down. They snagged on his foot, and Trott kicked them free.

“ _Alex_ ,” he breathed, caught off guard. Trott propped himself up on his elbows to watch Smith take his cock into his mouth. Smith flicked his eyes up at Trott, the telltale crinkle at the corners indicating a smile. With a ragged moan, Trott let his head fall back.

Smith’s hand followed his lips, up and down the length of Trott’s cock. He was much more slow than usual, taking his time to trace the veins under the skin and curl his tongue around the head. His other hand smoothed up the inside of Trott’s thigh, brushing teasingly close to his balls each time. With each dip of his head, Smith took him a little further down his throat until his nose was almost brushing Trott’s stomach.

“ _Smith_ , god, so good.” Trott’s voice wavered. Smith hummed, a deep and contented sound, as Trott curled his fingers tightly in Smith’s hair.

“That’s it, _god yes_ , yes, Smith, yes-” Trott’s voice pitched lower, and Smith increased the pace. His fingers slipped over Trott’s skin and he flattened his tongue against the underside of his cock. With a choked shout, Trott came, hips jerking up against Smith’s hands. The bitter taste of Trott’s come filled his mouth, and Smith pulled up enough to swallow, letting his hand move lazily along Trott’s length.

“God,” Trott sighed, letting his elbows slide out from underneath him. His head hit the floor with a soft thump. Smith crawled forward to rest his head on Trott’s shoulder, snuggling into his side. Trott stroked his hair, and they laid there for a little while without speaking. Late afternoon sunlight stretched across Smith’s bedroom floor, almost touching their feet - Trott’s bare, Smith’s still in socks.

“We should get up, before Ross gets home,” Trott finally said. His eyes were closed.

“Mmmm.” Smith’s response was pleasantly ambiguous. One arm was folded between their bodies, the other stretched over Trott’s waist.

“Seriously, get off.”

“I’m comfy, Trott.” Smith yawned. He hooked a leg over Trott.

“Smith,” sighed Trott. “Do not make me ruin this by tickling you to get you off me.”

“If you do, we’ll just end up making out again.”

“You are the worst,” Trott grumped, flicking his ear. Smith laughed.

“Alright, alright, I’m getting up.” He rolled over onto his back, stretching his limbs like a cat. Trott sat up, wondering where his boxers had gone. He reached out, unable to resist running his hand through Smith’s messy hair again. Smith’s brilliant answering smile felt as warm as the summer afternoon.


End file.
